


Fine-White Veil

by pittooey



Category: Fire Emblem: Seisen no Keifu | Fire Emblem: Genealogy of the Holy War
Genre: (though very vague), Established Relationship, Fluff to Bittersweet, Idiots in Love, M/M, Oral Sex, Trans Male Character, Trans Seliph, Vaginal Sex, idk I just miss areseliph, set in the middle of the story before endgame
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-13
Updated: 2020-05-13
Packaged: 2021-03-03 04:34:37
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,238
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24158947
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pittooey/pseuds/pittooey
Summary: Ares hates the snow. Seliph loves the snow.Ares interprets the reasoning behind Seliph's title as the Prince of Light, and what it exactly means to him.
Relationships: Aless | Ares/Celice | Seliph
Comments: 10
Kudos: 29





	Fine-White Veil

**Author's Note:**

> hey sorry for not writing in four years

It’s winter, and it’s cold – a bitter kind that nipped at Ares’ skin and had his breath come in puffs of vapor.

Ares himself has never been fond of it. To him, pretty patterns of snowfall mattered little in the wake of the numbing burn that followed when skin made contact with it. The cold, too, reminds him of groveling hands and empty stomachs… of his mother cradling him to chase it all away even when they both knew it did little to stop his tiny body from trembling.

No, Ares does not like winter. He loathes it, from the memories attached to the simple fact that he hated the sneezing and sniffling that accompanied the weather. He scowls.

“Seliph,” Ares calls in a huff, arms crossed tightly, “you’re taking too long.”

The weather does nothing to dent business in the marketplace, nor does it deter Seliph from coming to said marketplace and indulging in his favorite pastime. It’s as bustling as it always is, and Seliph turns to look over his shoulder with an unguarded smile.

“I’ll only be a moment,” he replies, head already turning back to the display of ceramics. When Ares looks closer, he realizes they’re adorned with seasonal decorations. His scowl deepens.

“Seliph,” Ares hisses. Seliph only waves his hand, indicating an intervention was to be had. With a gruff noise, he steps forward.

“Your idea of a moment and mine are two _very_ different things–“

Seliph turns his head again, amused. “Isn’t the point to not take long…?”

“Precisely.”  
  
“And we haven’t been here for long–”

“We’ve been here long enough.”

An arch of a brow, and Seliph straightens his back. “You’re impatient.”

Ares grunts. “It’s _cold_.”

Seliph chuckles then – a hand curled to his chin. Ares’ cheeks grow hot, and his eyes narrow into a squint. His displeasure, however, does nothing to dampen Seliph’s smile nor laughter. Ares didn’t expect it to.

“Alright,” Seliph relents, “we can leave–“

Ares sighs with relief.

“-once you help me pick between these pots.”

“ _Seliph._ ”

“They have snowflakes, Ares!”

* * *

It takes more than several moments, in Ares’ definition of the word, to finally lure Seliph away from shopping out his entire bag of coin. There’s some distance, between conquered castle and market, but the moment in between is something Ares can endure. He eyes Seliph’s particular smile – brighter than he remembers. Seliph is skimming through the contents in his satchel.

“You’re staring.”

Ares looks away.

“I’m not.”

Seliph doesn’t argue, instead humming as he stops finicking with his bag and looks ahead. He’s smiling again – the corners of his eyes crinkling.

“The snow is beautiful today.”

When Seliph says this, his voice adapts a gentled tone – culled with wonder and warmth. Ares looks to the sky, watching the snowfall as his lips purse together.

“I’m not particular to it.”

What Ares doesn’t expect is for Seliph to be surprised, as though the answer were something so unexpected of him. Seliph snaps his head towards Ares with a dumbfounded noise. Ares, in turn, widens his eyes and flinches away – confused.

“Really?”

A breath he didn’t realize he was holding slips out of him. “…I fail to understand why you’re so shocked.”

It seems that Seliph fails to understand too, because he opens his mouth, only to pause before retracting into his thoughts again. “Hm…”

Ares knows this look – has seen it more times than he’d like to count. Seliph’s gaze simply flickers, looking somewhere that Ares can’t reach. His expression softens, then, as Seliph’s mind wanders. He’s found that sometimes – in spite of his impatience – he doesn’t mind waiting. Even in the cold.

Seliph smiles, now, still so faraway that Ares can’t help but be curious.

“I like the snow.”

The statement is something simple. Seliph clutches to the lining of his satchel as they walk, a warm smile threatening to melt the snow around them. Ares’ gaze never leaves him, too – walking in stride as question clouds his expression. And then,

“It feels like home.”

Ares blinks, a small sound of surprise leaving him before he can help it. Seliph doesn’t seem to notice, so Ares doesn’t feel the need to hide himself. His brow marries together as he tries to decipher what Seliph means by that.

Seliph was like him: born to the warm winds of northern Agustria. He was a child who, knew the way the sun met the skyline of the ocean intimately. But Seliph was also Grannvalean, and Ares is left to ponder.

Seliph never seemed to inherit the passion for battle from his bloodline. It’s almost as if… Seliph had inherited nothing from his homeland other than a cause that began before him.

Looking ahead, Ares is left to ponder these thoughts. Unbeknownst to him, Seliph glances over, curious of the concentrated silence of his partner.

* * *

“You’re thinking about something.”

Seliph’s hand smooths gently along Ares’ arm when they near their chambers, his eyes peering up into the gold of Ares’. It’s different now, with the darkness above – stars reflecting their shine in the ocean of them. Grumbling, Ares looks away – unable to bear the naked honesty. “Are you concerned?”

Seliph blinks. “A bit,” he says, pulling away.

A lot, he means. Ares grimaces and reaches for his hand before he can pull away completely. Seliph blinks again, looking up once more to find a silent apology in Ares’ eyes. He accepts, relents, and comes close once more. Ares looks ahead.

“You said this… _snow_ ,” comes a spit of distaste, “feels like home to you.”

Seliph says nothing, which Ares takes as a sign to continue.

“I can’t comprehend why.”

And now, it’s Seliph’s turn to ponder. Ares can feel the drumming of his fingers along his bicep, the weight of it almost unnerving as the silence stretches. They even come to a stop – on the bridge between hall and room. The snow, even now, still falls above them.

“It’s…” Seliph starts, dreamlike again. Ares turns slightly to face him – to let Seliph hold him. His smile softens at the gesture. “It feels familiar to me – like I’ve seen it before.”

And it only adds more wonder, making Ares realize he doesn’t really know Seliph at all.

Something shows on his face, because Seliph is reaching up and cupping one of his cheeks. Ares swallows, and looks at him. This time, he gets snared in the clarity of Seliph’s gaze, and cannot bring himself to look away. Seliph smiles, and his thumb traces over the cheekbone.

“Why is it so important to you?”

Ares’ gaze lids. He leans into the touch – one he’d been so abrasive to for too long.

“I want to understand you.”

The answer is simple, and yet Seliph’s touch pauses at the words. This time, it’s Seliph who stares and still, Ares cannot bear to look away. He sees a touched expression – a vulnerability in the way Seliph leans up on the tips of his toes. Ares meets him halfway in the middle and kisses him first instead.

* * *

It always ends up like this, when the first kiss turns into a second. A third, then a fourth. Now, Seliph’s back finds the soft plush of the bed – hands tangling into Ares hair as he hovers over him. A giddy giggle wells in Seliph’s throat, when teeth catch the skin of his neck to nourish a red bloom. Ares huffs, and trails down.

“You’re enthusiastic,” Seliph comments, only to be followed by a squeak when Ares leaves an offending bite at his hip.

“Quiet.”

Seliph only giggles again.

Palms come to slide at the hem Seliph’s trousers – smoothing them off alongside his underwear in one go. Seliph’s breath hitches, and eyes glazed with lust find just where Ares was trying to get to. Ares pries his thighs apart, sparing Seliph only a single hungry glance before he nestles his head in between them.

With a cry, Seliph lets Ares devour him.

* * *

“Faster–“

“I know.”

“Ares–“

It’s not only him who’s impassioned tonight, it seems. Seliph is louder, more demanding and needing of Ares. In turn, Ares complies, burying his face into Seliph’s neck, and grips tighter onto his hips. He thinks they’ll be painted with bruises come morning, but that doesn’t stop the way Seliph arches into him.

It also doesn’t stop the burning inside of his chest.

“Seliph–“

“More… _Please_ , Ares–”

Ares listens, like he always has – presses inside Seliph’s body, and groans. He explores it like the first time, like the last time – like all the times he’s delved into him. Seliph’s eyes catch his own, and a hand braces next to Seliph’s head. With need, Seliph slips his own hand under. With love, Ares encloses his fingers around it. With lust, Seliph grins.

“I wonder…” he muses, a moan teetering on the edge of his voice, “if this is your way of understanding me too…”

Ares fucks into him harder, impassioned by the words, and Seliph lets him.

* * *

“I think I remember now,” Seliph says, planting kisses along Ares’ cheek in the afterglow, “why I'm fond of the snow.”

Ares hums, a hand encircling the small of Seliph’s back.

“It may have something to do with Silesse.”

A blink now, and Ares turns his head to look at him. Seliph stops kissing his cheek to return that gaze, tilting his head as he instead prompts to tuck tufts of loose hair behind Ares’ ear. He takes a moment to simply admire Ares, before continuing.

“I haven’t seen snowfall often growing up, but Lady Edain told me that there was a time in my life where Silesse was a place I once called my home.”

He smiles now, faraway. Ares makes no move to chase him.

“I don’t remember, but… she told me that the whole while, my father was looking for my mother.” One of the strands keeps coming loose, so Seliph tucks it away hopelessly. “She said he never lost hope, and would speak of her to me as though she was never gone.” A sigh, and Seliph nestles into Ares’ chest – crossing his arms and burying his chin. “After today, I was thinking – maybe – that’s why I’m fond of this kind of weather. It fills me with a strange hope.”

It’s Ares’ turn now, to play with Seliph’s hair.

“I didn’t know,” he says with a furrowed brow, “that you had lived in Silesse.”

Seliph hums and finds himself looking away. “It didn’t seem important until today.”

And now, Ares frowns in the wake of sadness seeping into Seliph’s smile. He knows what he means: Jugdral was a place built on the birthrights left by dead men. No matter the fondness Seliph held for it, his home would never be found in Silesse. Neither Chalphy, too. Seliph has, and always would be destined for Grannvale – the place that had already taken his life away once.

It’s in moments like these that Ares curses himself for having ever made an enemy of Seliph on the whims of a vengeful mother. Even if her anger was righteous – his own, too – so was Seliph. He was the embodiment of what defined goodness – something holy that they both can blame on his mother’s blood coursing through him. His hand comes to caress his cheek quietly, and Seliph closes his eyes.

Ares offers no words, because Seliph speaks the truth. In the unsaid, Seliph implies an inevitable destiny – also true. But Ares offers a quiet comfort, in the solace of what’s been lost. He understands. Seliph knows this too.

Some moments pass, and Ares speaks again.

“I’ve never liked the snow,” Ares confesses, “because they remind me of times I’d much rather forget.”

Seliph opens his eyes, but Ares continues before he can speak.

“That’s why I wondered: what about it was so intriguing to you? I couldn’t wrap my head around it, until I realized that there’s beauty meant to be found in it. In you.”

* * *

Words like ‘beauty’ and ‘marvel’ meant little to Ares. Many a times, he would scoff in the wake – laugh at such.

But he remembers, even now, the quiet smile – the wistful gaze tilted upward. He remembers forgetting how he complained of the cold – staring at Seliph like the many times he had before. Familiarity, he had said, and suddenly Ares could find it in another reason.

The people regard Seliph as the Prince of Light – a beacon of hope to the darkness that loomed over Jugdral. When Seliph claims his destiny, they say he will burn bright – a lasting ember to guard and protect.

But Seliph is not a fire – a flame that flares and scathes that darkness. Seliph too, is not the sun that chases away the night. Ares once believed in such tales of the prince – ready to smother that flame in personal revenge. What he found, however, was nothing he’d expected.

Seliph was like moonlight – gentle and melancholic. He was a cool calm, sorrowful and withholding of his blade when he could help it. He was a warrior culled – yielding to the beckon of destiny, but unwillingly. Seliph was the person who mourned for anything but himself – of the dead ghosts surrounding him like dried cedar trees in the brink of winter.

 _‘It feels like home,’_ he’d said, when something more attuned to his nature made him glow in the way folklore wouldn’t let him.

Ares remembers, that the snow bathed that prince in a beautiful light.

**Author's Note:**

> [twitter](https://twitter.com/pittooey/) (free to req!)


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